


Sharing is Caring, and Caring is. . . .

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this Inception_kink prompt: "In every relationship there comes a time when you must broach the subject of sharing a drawer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing is Caring, and Caring is. . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I didn't wanna do it! I didn't wanna do it!

"Right, then, how about the bottom drawer?"  
  
Arthur makes a petulant, half-asleep noise and shifts a little in Eames's arms. His face is warm on Eames's chest, one hand curled on Eames's stomach. "Can't, baby . . . that's my sock drawer. . . ."  
  
" _Our_  sock drawer, darling, remember?" Eames kisses Arthur's forehead and sighs, carding his fingers through Arthur's blessedly gel-free hair. "Or would you prefer  _our_  underwear drawer?"  
  
"Blasphemy."  
  
Mildly annoyed, Eames sighs again, feeling very put-upon. Or he would, if Arthur's bed, and Arthur's arms weren't so bloody warm and welcoming. "Our undershirt drawer. . . ? Our sleep-wear drawer. . . ?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Well, shall I just keep my change of clothes in a plastic bag by the front door, then?"  
  
"Mm. . . ." And when nothing more is forthcoming, Eames swats Arthur's arm. "I'm not asleep. Just resting my eyes," Arthur yawns.  
  
"You can rest them all you want in a little while. For now, we need to figure out where I'll be keeping my clothes, since your precious bureau is sacrosanct."  
  
Arthur rolls onto his stomach, laying his head on Eames's chest. His eyes are sleepy and unguarded, tender and fond. "Okay, how about this: I don't give you space in any of my drawers, and instead get a whole 'nother bureau for you to keep your stuff in?"  
  
Eames rolls his eyes. "Petal, I don't need a whole bureau for a few changes of clothing."  
  
"Well . . . maybe you could keep  _all_  your clothes in it." Arthur smiles a little, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Eames gapes, his own eyebrows making half the journey from brow to hairline.  
  
"You . . . are you asking me to move in with you?"  
  
Arthur's smile widens. "I believe I am."  
  
"But--"  
  
"It'd be much simpler than me rearranging my bureau, you have to admit."  
  
"Rearranging your  _entire life_  would be much simpler than rearranging your bureau--alright, yes, I can see where it would be, for you." Eames snorts, and Arthur laughs, kissing his chest.  
  
"I just don't see the point in half measures, is all. We've been together for, what--a year and a half? When you're in town, you spend more time here than you do in your own apartment. You're basically just using the place as an oversized closet."  
  
"That's not true," Eames protests half-heartedly.  
  
"Oh, really? It's barely furnished--you've only got a bed, a television and three mismatched chairs!"  
  
"Unlike you, I prefer a more spartan living space."  
  
"My ass, you do." Arthur licks a stripe from chest to chin, and kisses Eames's lips. "You like all the same modern conveniences that the rest of the world enjoys, such as tables, microwaves, and carpeting. And a refrigerator with actual food in it."  
  
"My refrigerator has food in it!"  
  
Arthur tucks his head into the hollow between Eames's jaw and shoulder. "If you consider mold and a half-finished bottle of dijon mustard food, then yes."  
  
Eames blushes. "Sometimes there's takeaway in there, too."  
  
Arthur chuckles, his lips whispering against Eames's skin. "Takeaway that doubles as penicillin."  
  
"Now you're just being picky."  
  
They lay there in comfortable silence for awhile, Arthur dozing, Eames thinking.  
  
"You really want me to move in with you, Arthur."  
  
"Mmhm." Sleepy assent that's assent, nonetheless. Eames swallows around the welling sensation in his throat.  
  
"I'm not easy to live with . . . I'm a bit of a slob."  
  
"Like I'd trust you to clean this place, anyway." A slightly loopy giggle. "I'll do the cleaning and cooking, you just . . . stay with me. That's your only chore."  
  
"I wouldn't say that's a chore, darling." Eames kisses Arthur's mussy hair. "But alright, then. If you really want me here, I would be honored to stay."  
  
Arthur snuggles closer. "Well . . . you have to take out the trash, too."  
  
"I'm surprisingly fine with that."  
  
"Good . . . say, Eames?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What's your first name?"  
  
"What's  _your_  last name?"  
  
"Arthur  _is_  my last name. My first name's John."  
  
 _Figures._  Eames smirks. "We happen to have the same first name, then."  
  
Eames can feel Arthur's frown against his collarbone.  
  
"What say we just stick with 'Arthur' and 'Eames'?"  
  
"Arthur and Eames sounds just fine to me, love. Just fine."


End file.
